The Great L Lawliet
by 3xdefined
Summary: Have you ever wondered why the great L is so quirky, so odd? I have written my interpretation of L's life from childhood to DeathNote. It will be surprising. There will be LxLight yaoi at the end but this is entirely meant as L's biography.
1. The Childhood of L

**Hey guys. So this is going to be a story about L's life. I mean doesn't everyone want to know why he is the way he is? It bothers me that his name is L Lawliet. L is not a name. I went searching for clues as to how L ended up as the amazingly quirky person he is with absolutely no results. So in the spirit of artistic interpretations of existing characters (or fanfic) I am creating my own scenarios. I'm going to be exploring a history that I made up, so if anything is incorrect I apologize, and also, get over it. I will be including some psychology stuff, but I'm only in Psych II in high school so don't expect me to delve too deeply. **

** There will be LxLight toward the end but that was not meant as the central purpose. Light fans, I'm sorry but he will not appear much in this fic. I will be bending Death Note to fit my needs but I will try to remain true to character. **

** All things considered, I hope you enjoy my fic. Flames will be read and probably have a damaging effect on my self-esteem so if it makes you feel better…go ahead. I'll keep writing anyway.**

**I do not own Death Note in any way shape or form. **

**This is L looking back on his life before he dies. Onward and upward…**

L may not have remembered his name after what happened, but he surely remembered the incident. And all that came before it. That was perhaps the most merciless part of the ordeal: his memories. L's memory was impeccably well intact and functional leaving him nowhere to escape the past that haunted him right to the edge of his sanity.

He had lived comfortably with his parents in an old manor house. The walls were made of crumbling brick covered in ivy that climbed into the cracks and bloomed in the summer. A lawn of green grass sprawled for an acre surrounded by woods lush and deep. Although the house was well endowed with modern amenities, it appeared to be a timeless haven lost in the English countryside. L loved every part of the outside, it was the inside that caused him grief.

The door would open and slam, waking a very young L from his nightly slumber. He would lay awake, his heart beating faster, listening intently to see if his mother had indeed left. Some mornings he was lucky, he could hear the tires of her car fling gravel against the windows. Most mornings, however, he was greeted by sunshine, birdcall, and a horrific screeching.

"You horrific child," would come her voice. L could always hear her making her way down the hall, every footfall making the old boards creak under her heals getting louder and louder. " What have I told you about sticking that thumb in your mouth?" she would ask, day after day, her voice steadily rising in anger. "If you cannot stop, I will be forced to cut it off!"

L would immediately pull it from his mouth, feeling his anxiety rise as she approached him. Mariella was a beautiful woman with glossy black hair and deep green eyes framed in black lashes. She was young, shapely, and talented. And L loved her. Even though she would yell at him or slap him, for all of the times she was docile and kind L loved her. Even fear was not enough to deter the young boy from his beloved mother.

"Why would you do this to me? Your father has gone again and I _know _he is sleeping with that blonde slut from his office. I suppose that if you weren't here, I wouldn't be so _damned_ miserable. Why? Why do you hate me?" her hand would connect with his face and the tears would well up as so many times before.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he looked at her with large brown eyes. His sniveling and crying only disgusted her. She wanted him to know what it was like to be forgotten, to be left alone and miserable.

"I'll give you something to be sorry about," she said, and grabbed a handful of his hair. She pulled him down the stairs, deaf to his cries and pleading. In her drunken haze it seemed like nothing more than background noise, the protests of a plaguing demon about to be exorcized. She pulled open the cabinet under the sink, filled with cleaning bottles and dish rags, but there was just enough room for a small boy. She pushed him inside and closed the cabinet, locking it with a bicycle chain.

"No! Please let me out! Mommy!" L cried, as he pounded on the cabinet. He was scared, he did not want to be left alone in the cramped space.

"You will stay in there and if I hear another noise I am going to start putting you in the dryer," she threatened. L pulled himself away from the wooden door. He could only pull his knees up to his chest in a tight crouch. He replaced the thumb inside of his mouth and found it soothing. He stayed there for the rest of the day.

His mother let him out just before L's father returned home from work. She hurried him outside and scrambled to straighten things up before he got home. L was grateful to be freed and started running about the yard. He found a few new wild flowers that he kept in a book, labeled by their scientific name that L learned from an encyclopedia he had found in his father's office.

He had learned to read when he went to nursery school. As soon as the other children had finished learning the alphabet, he had already begun to read at a fifth grade level. None of his teachers believed that he understood what he was reading, but let him entertain himself regardless. Now, at the age of six, he found nothing more fun than absorbing information from encyclopedias and dictionaries as there was nothing else to read in the house. Being as L was not allowed to watch television, sorting plants and solving his father's 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles satisfied him, until he found the chess board and an old master's guide. New worlds of logic opened up to him after that.

In an unfortunate turn of events L's mother lost her job and was forced to stay home with L while his father worked ungodly hours. Sometimes Laurence Lawliet would not even set foot in the house for two weeks straight. If in fact the man did make it home early enough for L to lay eyes on him, the man would have nothing to do with his son. L would have to sit in his room and listen to the two adults argue over things he could not yet understand.

For two years L was not allowed to go to school. His life fell into a familiar routine that he came to accept as normal. Mariella would wake him up as the sun rose, accuse the boy of ruining her life, and yank the thumb out of his mouth. He would try to apologize, try to make it up to her. He truly felt back for making his mother so unhappy, for making his father leave. He sometimes gave her boquets of flowers or other gifts.

"Here mommy," he said, holding out his very favorite teddy bear. He wanted to cry at the thought of being separated from his friend. He loved the bear very much, but he would give it away if it meant making his mommy happy. "I want you to have him. I want you to feel better,"

His mother looked at the bear with one eye fallen out, it was filthy and had matted fur. "This is a disgusting old thing," she said. "I'm going to throw it away," L begged her not to. But in the end the bear was thrown directly into the fireplace.

After L's apologies he would be taken back to the kitchen and stuffed into the corner under the sink, stuck in a broken haunch for hours on end. At first he begged and pleaded, struggled and pushed to get out. But after so long he resigned himself and no longer argued as he was shut up in the darkness for the day. He would sit there with his thumb back in his mouth, and think hard.

Mommy was sad because daddy was gone, and daddy was gone because of L, therefore L was making mommy sad. It made perfect sense. He tried to think of ways to get his daddy back, but the man was never in the house long enough for L to talk to him. One day the thought occurred to him, he could write his daddy a letter and give it to the mailman.

L waited until Tuesday, the day when Mariella went grocery shopping and let L remain free in the house. He grabbed a blue marker and a piece of paper and an envelope from his mother's desk.

"_Dear Daddy," _he wrote in his sloppy, childish handwriting. "_I wish you would come home. I am sorry for making you leave and making you sad. Will you come back so mommy will stop keeping me under the sink all day long?" _he put the letter into the envelope and wrote the address of his father's workplace on the front. He had memorized the address when he saw a previous letter left out on the counter when his father was home.

When the mailman came up the long gravel drive, L unbolted the door and ran as fast as he could with his letter, smudging and smearing the blue marker as he went. He fell twice, unused to running as his time outside had been greatly reduced as of late. "Wait!" He yelled as he sped toward the truck.

"Hello there, little one," said the mailman. He was a kind looking man with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"Will you give this to my daddy?" L asked, handing the man his letter.

"Well you need a stamp on it," said the mailman, " but you know what? I have some extra ones. I'll be sure he gets it, okay?" L nodded, he took off running back up the drive right to the back yard to enjoy the sunshine while he could.

It took three days for L's father to come home unannounced one afternoon, screaming at his mother.

"Where is he?" his father yelled, throwing something at a wall. "Where is my son you crazy bitch?"

"Lawrence! Stop it! You're hurting me!" she screamed, a loud thud came from the hall close to the kitchen. L heard his father's steps as he came closer to the sink his mother was screaming for him to stop, that it was not what it looked like.

"Really? So you chained our son under the sink! What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, pulling on the chain so hard that the handles ripped off the thin wood. He pulled L out from cabinet forcefully, taking in the boy's pale skin and wide eyes. Pangs of guilt and sorrow flooded the man as he saw the bruises and cuts on the boy's face and arms, he was dirty and uncouth, obviously his mother had not been taking care of him at all besides feeding him.

"He's a terrible, nasty child. He needs to be sent away, somewhere for deranged children," she screeched, pointing a finger at the small boy. L put his thumb in his mouth and hugged his father in glee. He was so happy that his daddy got his letter. Now his mommy would be happy, now his daddy had rescued him.

"I want a divorce. Now. And I'm taking my son with me," he said. Mariella looked shocked for a moment; her face fell into a stony expression.

"A divorce? After everything I've been through, you want a divorce…" she trailed off and walked away. L heard her footsteps on the stairs, the door to her bedroom slammed.

"Daddy you're home!" L said after everything quieted. The man's brown eyes met L's, his weary glance was full of remorse but L only saw his father. His salvation.

"Yes, and I promise she will never hurt you again," he said. L smiled and hugged the man's neck, smelling the soft scent of cologne and feeling the rough stubble. Mariella came back down the stairs, L assumed that she would be happy now. He did not know what a divorce was, but it could not be bad. L had gotten daddy to come home, she would be happy now. But she was the furthest thing from happy. She pulled out a can from under the sink and started splashing the liquid everywhere. Lawrence put L down, grabbing for the can. They began fighting and L's father yelled for him to get out of the kitchen. L merely backed up. His mother pulled out a gun from her back pocket. A loud bang resonated through the room, it hurt L's ears and startled him but he did not close his eyes. His father's head exploded with a burst of red across the counter top. He fell to the floor in a heap.

"This hell will go up in flames," Mariella said, flicking a match from the book they kept over the stove. She dropped it and the kitchen was set ablaze. She ran forward, clutched onto L's shirt, and slammed his head against the counter. Her shirt caught fire, though, and she started screaming. She let go of the boy and L ran out of the house, as fast as he could, back down the gravel drive. But he only made it half way before he passed out from his head injury.

It was an hour before the fire trucks and police cars arrived on scene. L awoke halfway to the hospital, terrified. He cried and struggled, they had to restrain him so he did not pull out his IV's. The boy was covered in soot, bruises, burns, he had inhaled smoke and gotten a severe concussion. But not one would know what true injuries L had. Injuries of the mind.

When the eight year old boy woke up in the hospital, a calm was settled into him. Images of the fire, his parents, the last years, flooded back. He began to cry, but quietly. He had learned to be quiet when he cried, he was always afraid his mother would put him in the dryer. No one even knew he had awoken.

"There he is," said a kind nurse as she checked over tubes and needles in his arms. L stared at them in a panic and recoiled from the nurse's touch. He was expecting her to slap him across his cheek. That was how ladies were. "It's alright, darling. You are going to be just fine. Now, can you tell me your name?" she asked kindly. L thought but he couldn't remember. He shook his head, putting the tip of his thumb in his mouth tentatively, unsure if she would yell at him for having it there. "You can't remember?" she asked. He shook his head again. He really could not remember.

Over the next few days many doctors and nurses would ask him his name over and over again. But there were no records of him, everything burned in the house fire. The only thing they knew of was the name written on the tag of his jacket he was found wearing. On there, written hastily, was L. Lawliet, the jacket L had been wearing since nursery school when he needed his name written on it. From then on, everyone called him Lawliet. Or simply L.

Once L was feeling better, he began seeing counselors and therapists and other such people asking him questions. He told them about his mother, he did not see why not . Wasn't that normal for all mommys? They told him it wasn't, that his mother was a very bad woman. He loved his mother, he told them so. He just wanted her to be happy, to let him out from under the sink. He missed his parents, but he never cried in front of the strange people. He did not want to get in trouble.

Soon enough, a kind looking man with white hair and a nice suit came to talk to L. He asked L what he liked to do, what kind of games he liked to play. L told him about reading the encyclopedias and making his books of plants. He told the man all about the different wild flowers found in the forests, their scientific name, and the time they bloomed. The said that he thought L was a very nice young boy and very smart too. He said that L would come live with him, that nice man named Quillish Wammy.

"That boy is incredibly intelligent but his maturity is stunted. He has had little contact with other children his age, and none in the last two years. He has never had a formal education. There is no telling what kind of mental scarring he is going to have. He would be better off in a mental ward," said one of the doctors.

"I see his potential," Wammy said strongly. "L will be somebody important one day,"

**Thanks for reading. Let me know if this is interesting and if you want me to continue. Any helpful critiques are much appreciated! **


	2. Wammy's House

Okay, so this is L's early days at Wammy's. Next chapter, the real action begins.

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Wammy took L to the orphanage nearly a week after the entire ordeal. L was a very quiet boy, Wammy noticed, and very pensive. Even though Wammy knew the child had questions, L remained silent, staring out the window of the car with wide eyes, his legs pulled underneath him in an odd crouch. Wammy had been told by the doctors that over two years, L had spent most of his time in that position. As a growing boy, L's body had started to meld into that shape to accommodate the tight space. It was likely that without surgery his posture would always be as such. Wammy was not about to correct L on the proper way to sit in a chair.

L dragged after Wammy as they approached the orphanage. His dark, shaggy hair fell across his eyes, hiding the wide orbs from the world. He seemed like a feral child with all his hair and bizarre way of standing. Wammy took the child by the hand and led him through the front door that held L's future.

The house was rambunctious and loud to say the least. Boys were all over the place, running after each other, laughing, playing computer games. A pair of them walked by arguing over the exact dimensions of Jupiter's distorted surface area due to the elliptical shape and oddly placed axis. L was scared to go any further, but Wammy pushed him down the hall.

Suddenly a hush came over the place and kids ran up to their bedroom doors to get a look at the new kid. L hadn't seen so many people at one time in many years. All of their eyes on him caused him to bite lightly on the tip of his thumb to calm himself. Whispers erupted from every doorway and L felt anxiety rise up in his throat at the feeling of being watched so closely. He did not like it in the least.

Wammy led L to a solitary bedroom complete with a single bed with a blue blanket, white washed furniture with brass handles, and light linen curtains that blew with the breeze. The boys were trailing behind the pair and crowded the doorway, laughing and whispering to each other.

"Why does he get a room to himself? He's not even thirteen!" One of the boys said to another in outrage. L shuffled his feet, confused by the commotion.

"That is enough. You will all go about your business as usual," Wammy said with authority. No one spared a second thought about doing what he asked. It seemed as though Wammy had absolute authority and no one was about to question that.

"Here is where you are to stay, L," Wammy said, looking down at the small boy kindly.

"But when will I go home?" he asked meekly. Expecting to be hit for his questioning, he raised a hand to his face. Wammy grabbed the hand and sunk down to meet the boy's eyes straight on.

He gave L a grave expression and said, "L, you know your family is dead and the house burned down," he said matter-of-factly. L had already been told this at the hospital.

"Are you sure, though? Are you really certain that they are dead?" he asked, tears welling up in his eyes. Denial. That was normal after the severe amount of trauma and grief he was experiencing. L was a smart boy, he understood what death meant. He did not want to believe it, though.

"Yes," Wammy said. L withdrew from the man and walked with his fist at his eyes into the adjoining bathroom where he proceeded to climb underneath the sink, into the cabinet and close the door. Wammy sighed; he had his estate to tend to. He could not remain until L decided to emerge from his safe haven. Instead he brought one of the older boys out of one of his studies to sit and wait until L came out of the cupboard.

L sat under the sink with his arms curled around his legs, sobbing. He missed his mommy and daddy, he wanted them back. He blamed himself for what happened. He would have done anything to get them back, anything at all. But he knew that death was permanent. That was why he cried and cried until his head started to hurt and his eyes dried out. He did not come out until he heard someone calling for him outside the bathroom.

"Hey, kid, it's time for dinner. Do you want something? If you do you'll have to come out of there," said the voice. L peeped his head out from his hiding place. There was a person sitting on his bed with auburn hair and freckles. He wore a slight scowl on his face that made L cringe. There were a pair of black framed glasses on his face that he pushed up on his nose, and a book lay by his side on the bed. "I can see you," said the boy, his voice told that he was not amused.

"Who are you?" L asked timidly, peeking out from the bathroom.

"My name is Wilson," he said, crossing and uncrossing his legs and pushing his glasses higher onto his face. "What is your name?"

"Um, I'm…I…" L stumbled again, wishing with all his might he could remember.

"You should not trip over your words when you speak. It makes you seem unintelligent. Out with it," said Wilson forcefully.

"I am L," he said straightforwardly.

"Much better, though L is certainly not a name. It's a letter. But I won't question whatever aliases Wammy has come up with to protect your identity," he commented, mostly to himself. He then stood up, closed his book, and walked out of the room. L sat there for a few seconds before he jumped up to trail after his heels like a puppy.

Wilson led L to the dining room where three long tables lined with chairs sat in disarray. Plates and napkins and forks all piled on top of each other and swam in a mess of sauce and grease. Wilson sighed as he moved chairs out of the way and walked up to a serving table almost entirely picked clean of food.

"Well this is just splendid. You had to take so long to come around? Really, L," he chastised.

"I'm very sorry," L said, looking up at Wilson with his huge, dark eyes. The older boy was not swayed by the display.

"Another thing, you should not apologize for things that are not your fault. Have more pride than that," he said, annoyed. Wilson walked into the kitchen where L heard him conversing with someone else inside. Within a few minutes, Wilson came striding out with two plates with cake on them. "Since we missed dinner, I suppose we can be the first ones for desert," he said with a smirk. He placed the cake down in front of L who eyed it suspiciously.

"What, you've never eaten cake before?" Wilson asked. L shook his head, he really hadn't. Or at least could not remember it if he had. L reached out to take a handful of cake in his hands when his wrist was suddenly slapped with a metal object. It was a fork. "Do you mind," Wilson said, handing L the fork. L had never used a fork before either. Whenever his mother fed him she simply put a plate on the table and walked away. L tried to copy Wilson using the fork. He could not seem to use it without dropping frosting everywhere, so he settled for gripping the metal between his thumb and forefinger, something that seemed to be much more effective. Wilson seemed satisfied and went on reading his book.

L finally got a mouthful of cake and was struck by the most magical sensation of all time. His tongue was flooded with the tantalizing sweetness that was the most satisfying food item on the face of the earth. Or so it was for L. L suddenly found his perception increased by tenfold. He could see every detail of Wilson's personage, the table, the room. Everything seemed so clear and concise, and within himself a burst of energy shot forth and unleashed an ecstasy yet unknown to the boy. He had never experienced such rich flavor, such soft texture. A new world of sweetness opened for him in that moment, and young L had fallen in love with cake.

Wilson escorted L back to his room and bid him goodnight. L walked over to the strange bed and sat down haplessly. He was used to being alone, that was not what bothered him. But there was an unknown emptiness to the room, there was no history, no life in the walls, even though he could hear talking in the room next door. He felt displaced and scared.

But even with all his distress he fell into a deep sleep in which he dreamt of fire, and woke in a drenching cold sweat.

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Even after a few days, none of the other children warmed up to L. The next day all that was said to him was that he looked kind of like a disheveled drowned rat or some sort of lemur. Wilson, his new mentor, told off the other kids, some of whom were Wilson's own age, and sent them on their way. L was not offended by the comments, but rather intrigued by the other children. He began to study them. It was fascinating to L the way people interacted with one another. Their emotions were displayed so freely, especially on the younger children. L took note of all these expressions, the tiny, almost unnoticeable movements that portrayed hidden feelings and lies. This was how L realized in a sudden epiphany that people did not often tell the truth and would go through great pains to hide this. The question was why.

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Over the next few weeks, L became acclimated to the orphanage. He came to recognize routine, tolerate all the excessive noise, and realize with some certainty that he enjoyed being there. But, it became clear to the rest of the orphanage that L was strange. The adults would not talk about where L came from, what his real name was, why he was so odd. So the kids devised their own stories, grand tales of adventure and intrigue. L eventually heard them all, but did not affirm or deny any of their theories. He did not want them to figure out what happened to him. He did not want to remember what happened to him. He wanted to forget. He drowned himself in learning, realizing with all the resources available and daily lessons that he could block out the memories and focus on something useful: knowledge. That was why it also became apparent that L was smart, even more so than the average genius that walked the halls of Wammy's house. Gradually he gained a sort of distanced respect, but no one dared to try and become friends with the strange boy.

The one person that never left his side was Wilson. He acted as a mentor as well as something of an older brother. Wilson was attracted to L's intellect and found his lack of life experience endearing. But he would never admit that aloud. He helped L learn things about society, about culture, about people. L absorbed every word he said, and that fed Wilson's self esteem. They had a win-win relationship.

It was Wilson that introduced him to a great many things. In addition to cake and silverware, Wilson showed L the television. L was enamored by all the scenarios on the television, all the different people, and the new things he could learn by watching. His first Saturday morning cartoons opened his perception to justice. Watching the superheroes throw the villains in jail struck a chord in L. Something about it reverberated in him and simply made sense. The bad guys caused innocent people pain, the super heroes brought them to jail. Justice. So simple and yet so grandiose. The pieces started to click, the cogs rolled in L's mind, and Wilson had to shake him back into reality after L had been staring too long at a white wall.

But the television also caused L a great amount of pain. Through movies and sitcoms, L learned what a family was supposed to be like. Mothers were supposed to hug their sons, to play with them. Fathers would come home from work every night, they would eat dinner together with silverware at a table. And children were most certainly not supposed to be locked in cupboards for hours a day. They were supposed to go to school. This realization saddened the young L. He loved his parents, but seeing what his life could have been he could not help but wonder why he was never given the opportunity to have a normal life. From there, a bitterness grew. But L could only go on alone in his quiet suffering.

In addition to incredible academic performance it was soon discerned that L had an aptitude for physical activity as well. Similar to a public school, Wammy's house rules required a certain amount of academic hours in lessons and in physical activity. The first time L stepped into the tennis court the other boys snickered in glee. They knew they would make short work of L, the slouched, sheltered genius. The first ball came with a hard serve, L aimed his racket to create the correct angle between the racket and the ball to project it right back toward the server. It only took a few calculations of velocity and trajectory. The ball whizzed back at top speed and nailed the server in between the eyes. The other players looked at L in surprise and one by one, kids lined up to play L in tennis.

It was not long before the teachers at Wammy's caught wind of L's impressive tennis skills. They were already aware of his intellectual prowess, having him in class, but that sort of talent was not unusual for the children of Wammy's. Soon enough L found himself supplied with a number of willing coaches who would meet with him in the afternoons. L liked Tennis, that much was true, but he really loved to win. Even more, he hated to lose. That was an innate part of him that was unleashed once he realized his whole life, he had been subservient. His mother had treated him as something less than human, but he did not have to stand for it. To be taken advantage of was unjust, L saw. But this game taught L the influence of power, it taught him what it was like to take control and to triumph over someone else. Winning achieved this for him, but losing brought all those feelings, the submission, the pain, back. This had him gravitating toward the tennis court every day.

Wammy himself started advocating L's traveling tennis matches. He thought it would be good for L to go places, see the world which he had never known before. With the head of the orphanage as his personal guide, L began to dominate English tennis players all across the country. Before long, L had attracted some media attention. He had not lost a match since his first week of playing, he seemed invincible. Wammy quickly had to come up with an alias for L so the world could not dredge up the finer details of the fragile boy's past. The world was not yet ready for the appearance of L.

After L won the junior championship, Wammy became more proactive in L's life. That potential he saw at the beginning was now flourishing into something amazing. L was capable of anything, he could have influence far and wide, he could initiate new technologies, policies, anything, and change the world as it was. Wammy was determined to sculpt the malleable genius into a tool to enhance the world. It was all just a matter of what L wanted to do.

"L , it is time that you start thinking about your future," Wammy said one day. L frequently attended private lessons with Wammy so the man could fully assess L's assets.

"How so?" L asked, flipping a page in his book on biochemistry. The nine year old had been at Wammy's nearly a year. He was reading this book because Wilson was reading it currently. The boy adored Wilson, his older brother for all intents and purposes. Wilson was a very smart boy, he was nearly eighteen and would be graduating from Wammy's house soon. He would go on to be a prevalent neurosurgeon, that was sure. He was not perhaps the greatest cultivation that Wammy's had to offer, but he was bound to save hundreds of lives. L dreaded the thought of losing his brother, he wanted to be as close to him as possible, for as long as possible. So he started to copy Wilson's ways. This included not wearing shoes or socks. Although Wilson dressed well, unless he was going out he kept the shoes and socks off his feet.

"If your feet are cramped and uncomfortable, then it distracts your mind," that was his qualification. It made perfect sense to L, who began to imitate this action with positive results.

"You must pick a career, L. You have to find a specific subject to be proficient in, even consummate. You cannot remain here forever," Wammy said sternly. "You have to be able to make a living at some point,"

"I am knowledgeable in many subjects," L stated plainly, continuing to read. He was crouched in a chair in his usual position, his small thumb resting between his lips that had become more of a habit than a coping mechanism. Wammy noted the lack of shoes, but decided L functioned best with his abnormalities.

"I am simply asking you to think about it. I request your decision by October fifteenth." Wammy said. L nodded. That was three months away. He would think on it, but he had no idea what subject would keep his interest for the rest of his life.


	3. L's First Case

** Hey guys, thank you all for your encouraging reviews. Awesome I got one review that very…pleadingly advised me to read a manga called "Lucky Dog 1 Blast" honestly, at first I thought this person was crazy for going on for a paragraph about this loveless manga. But I had some free time, so I decided to humor them. I found, with great surprise, that this is a very, very good manga. It has well defined characters, humor, and a good surrounding plot. It's about the Italian Mafia in the 1930s. But don't let that deter you, give it a shot. Its only 6 chapters, and I foresee BL in its future. Now I hope my hysterical reviewer can get some sleep.**

** As for my fic, I'm getting into the adolescence for L this chapter; the young teenage years up to age fifteen. But next chapter I'm unleashing a whole lot of teenaged-L emo sexiness on you all. **

**Onward and upward my friends…**

By the time L was twelve he was by far the most intellegent kid at the orphanage. Many of the other boys adored him, wanted to be as smart as him, to be his friend, but L was still averse to socializing. He kept to himself for the most part, finding that he could easily accomplish things better on his own or with the help of Wammy, who had taken the care of L upon himself: something that shocked everyone in the orphanage.

L was left friendless after Wilson had graduated from Wammy's and became the third best neurosurgeon in the world in only two years. L missed him terribly, almost as much as he missed his parents. Without Wilson nagging him about his manners, his ways of speaking, and criticizing his logical thinking, L found himself generally unsure. Another quality Wilson would have detested. L's older brother wanted nothing more than to manifest a confidence in L, a sense of pride and ability, of ambition. The only thing L had been able to conjure from his long past of subservience was a straight-forward manner and a blunt ability to point out flaws.

The pain from his parents' deaths had dulled as L's innocent perception of the world was gradually taken from him by media exposure. A slow burning hatred churned in L's chest alongside the sadness of what his parents did. He realized that what they did to him was not his fault, but he could not understand why. He let it go, though. He did not understand emotions as much as he did logic. Emotions and logic did not exist simultaneously or harmoniously in L's brain, therefore one or the other would have to be eradicated. L opted for the less painful of the two.

Wammy had been nagging L relentless for two years to pick something to commit himself to, some sort of career, and Wammy himself would see to it that L was successful. Wammy had become increasingly fond of the boy, catering to him out of sympathy and genuine adoration. In truth, L reminded Wammy of his own son who had died of an overwhelming disease. However, despite his persistence, L hadn't picked anything to devote his life to. Instead, he devoted himself to everything. Every subject, no matter how abstract or strange, L knew something of it. He studied, played chess, played tennis, and ate a lot of sweets. The latter was Wammy's true concern. But as long as L was sufficiently healthy and continued to eat other foods besides, he let it slide.

L's true calling came to him one day via the television. He was sitting in the living room, his legs curled under him as usual, reading a book on International Law, his newest subject of the week. He found it particularly boring, but useful nonetheless.

"Hey, isn't that Wilson?" One of the boys exclaimed. L looked up at the television out of curiosity and saw, with great certainty, that is was Wilson.

"Indeed," L said, all the heads in the room snapped to him. L hardly ever spoke aloud unless it was something very important. The twelve year old was regarded as something of an intellectual oracle.

_The twenty two year old Neurosurgeon, Wilson Newbury, is being tried for the intentional murder of Joseph Hallow, a forty year old Professor of Neuroscience. Newbury will be tried in the United States, due to the location of the murder. Police are still withholding the details of the case, but it is expected that, if convicted, Newbury will serve twenty five years to life in prison…"_

It was impossible. There was no way that Wilson was capable of murder. He got woozy when they had to saw the top of the skull off of his patient the first time. L leaned forward to hear more of the report, but they cut to another segment. L got up, aware of all the eyes on him, and walked briskly up to Wammy's office. L was the only one allowed to disturb the man there.

"Wammy, Wilson has-"

"I know," Wammy interrupted, looking stonily concerned but otherwise unruffled.

"There is no possible way that Wilson has committed murder," L said vindictively.

"I am aware of that L, I am hiring well respected Lawyers, graduates of this institution, to assist Wilson," Wammy said, scribbling something down on a document. "There is no need to worry,"

L trusted Wammy. But he still worried. He worried throughout the night, keeping him awake and safe from his nightmares. He had limited his sleep to only five hours a night in order to avoid the very stressful and concerning nightmares in which his parents and fire always starred. But the next day, the entire next week, L felt sick and weary from pure worry and lack of sleep. The distraction from his studies was both disconcerting and annoying. He could not focus on anything, his thoughts were always on Wilson.

The logical conclusion was that Wilson was being framed. Of course, L did not know any of the evidence that could support that, but Wilson would never have murdered someone outright. Perhaps the professor had some enemies at the university, or perhaps a rival neurosurgeon wanted Wilson out of the picture. But there were too many 'perhaps' for L. Uncertainty did not sit well with L.

Wammy had contacted the lawyers and Wilson, he left right away for the States to help his former charge. L wanted to go with him. At first, Wammy was reluctant. L had never been outside the orphanage, besides his childhood home and nursery school. Let alone the country. But L reasoned, quite convincingly with Wammy. He even promised that if Wammy allowed him to go, then L would decide on his career. So Wammy put together a passport for the twelve year old with a false name: Eraldo Coil.

The airport was an experience for L. He had never been around so many people before. He tried to remain calm, but the combination of being in an unfamiliar place and wearing the, tight, uncomfortable shoes set him into a state of paranoia. The plane ride itself was another story. L had read several books about aircraft, their construction, the statistics and probability of disaster. He was fairly secure that they would not die in a firey crash, but there was still a 1 in 11 million percent chance that he would die.

They arrived in New York three days before the trial. The hotel scene was interesting, L found he rather liked it, despite what his mentor had originally thought. The change was not damaging, in fact the young genius found it exciting. From the window, he took in New York City. It was much different from his hometown, but it was fascinating. The people, the cultures, the new scenery, it all made him want to go out and explore it. But it also showed him how much of life he had already missed out on, being holed up in the orphanage.

The pair went to visit Wilson in jail. He was being held there until the trial. Wammy thought L was too young for such a thing, but L, always the impeccable arguer, convinced him. So they went in, after an extensive security check, and sat in front of the telephone windows. Wilson looked terrible. His skin was pallid, there were deep circles under his eyes, his ginger hair was disheveled, and he seemed a bit jaded. But even through all of that, his eyes were still sharp, piercing, dignified. His sense of self, his confidence and cold demeanor had not shifted.

After Wammy finished speaking with him, he handed the phone to L, who took it cautiously and sat down. He was all dolled up in some sort of expensive outfit Wammy had gotten for him, he found it incredibly unaccommodating.

"Hello, L," Wilson said in his usual, chastising tone. L was never so elated to hear the caustic voice.

"You didn't do it," L said, rather than asked. Wilson offered the slightest smirk in success at L's blunt speech, knowing it was due to his training that he spoke as such.

"Of course I didn't do it! Do you think I'm capable of murder? I'm being framed," he said, rolling his eyes insolently.

A feeling overtook L. He _knew _in his gut that Wilson was innocent. The possibility that Wilson may be sent to prison permanently on false charges infuriated him.

"You won't be sent to jail, Wilson, not if I can help it," L said, determined.

"L, I appreciate the concern, but there is truly nothing you can do about it. This is up to the U.S. judicial system now. Not a well endowed twelve year old," Wilson said, giving a genuine smile at the kid. He was fond of L, but he knew that he couldn't do anything to help.

"You'll see, Wilson, I will get you out of this," L said. He hung up the phone and waved goodbye to Wilson.

_I'll be damned,_ Wilson thought as his little brother walked away. _Maybe I'll get out of this mess after all. _

L committed himself to figuring out the truth. He had Wammy give him a copy of all the evidence papers the Lawyers had and started laying out facts. He wanted the police reports, but his hacking abilities were less than capable at that point. So he was stuck using the library and whatever decrypting knowledge he had to get at confidential information.

So far, L knew that the professor did have direct relations to two of the other Neurosurgeons that Wilson had competition with, just as he had originally suspected. Apparently Wilson had become friends with the professor through his work, and often had consultations with the man regarding his cases and patients. One of the other Neurosurgeons was apparently blackmailing the hospital with some sort of insurance fraud. It was clear that the professor played some role in this whole scandal, but L could not figure out what.

"Wilson," L asked, when he went back to the jail for an interview. "Did you know the professor?" L asked.

"Of course, we were good friends," he said, twirling a piece of his hair between his fingers. L sensed there was something that Wilson was not telling him. His eyes flicked very quickly to the side, his body language shifted as he crossed and uncrossed his legs into his typical pose.

"Wilson, it is imperative that you tell me everything," L said, leaning closer into the window. He wished he could take off his shoes and get more comfortable in the chair. His mental process was inhibited in this position, L noticed. He pulled his knees up to his chest. There was about a forty percent increase of his mental process.

Wilson eyed him warily, but ultimately sighed. "Okay, L. I trust you. We were having an affair," Wilson said. L attempted to remain impassive. If he could discern other people's emotions by their facial expressions, he did not other people reading his. But in this instance he could not stifle completely his feeling of shock.

"I am aware I am not well versed in the customary principles involved in adult relationships, but the professor was forty years old, and you are only twenty three," L stated, scribbling down notes with the pen between this index finger and thumb. That was a habit Wilson was never able to break.

"I know, L. But love has no age requirements," Wilson said. L had no idea about love, or emotions. He did not understand such things.

"Did you know anyone named Dr. Theodore Plains?" L asked, skipping over his brother's confession.

"Yeah, that was Joe's stepson," he said, twirling his hair again. "He was also a neurosurgeon at the hospital I frequently fly into to perform complex surgeries,"

One of the suspects was related to the victim? Things started to fall into place.

"Wilson, is there any possibility that Theodore knew of your relationship with the professor?" he asked expectantly.

"We tried to keep it a secret, but he may have found out somehow. He never really accepted Joe as his stepfather, Joe married Theo's mother when he was eighteen. They always had problems, Theo did not think Joe was good enough for his mother," Wilson's voice became hostile.

"Has he ever threatened the professor or you?" L asked.

"No, but when Joe said he was going to divorce his wife, Theo got really upset. He yelled and got in joe's face," Wilson looked at L with his slicing eyes, but L saw a softness behind them. He was scared, and he was deeply hurt by the death of his lover.

So L had a suspect, even a motive. Now he needed evidence. So L went searching and hacking. He reviewed the information from the lawyers that the police had recovered, and eventually came up with gold. He handed the results of his investigation to Wammy, who was shocked and thoroughly impressed.

The evidence was given to the lawyers from Detective Eraldo Coil, a P.I. allegedly hired by Wilson Newbury. Theodore was brought in for questioning by the police and eventually confessed to the murder of his stepfather on trial. He had framed Wilson by writing a few false threatening letters and sending them to the professor, blackmailing him with false information. All of the false claims were disproved and Wilson was found innocent. He was let off free of charge.

Meanwhile, Eraldo Coil, the faceless detective was given all the credit for the result of the investigation. The police chief even thanked him on the television. L took this in stride, but he felt a rush at the recognition he received. Detective Eraldo Coil, PI. The name sounded like a television detective. L liked it. He liked it a lot. L was drunk on triumph. Everything was right with the world. The criminal was being punished, he was going to jail for life. Wilson was free. It was victory, it was righteousness, it was Justice.

Wilson was very grateful and went back to Wammy's house with his brother and Wammy. With some persuading, Wammy convinced Wilson to stay. Wammy wanted Wilson to start his training to take over the orphanage. It would be a five-year internship in which Wilson would learn the ins and outs of training and caring for genius children. Wilson, Wammy said, was just the right combination of cold and dethatched, but also instructive and caring. Judging by the effect he had on L, Wilson was going to be a natural.

A week later, after being reunited with his brother, L sauntered into Wammy's office and sat in a chair. There was silence for a few minutes before L finally spoke. "Wammy, I have decided what I want to dedicate my life to,"

Wammy's head raised with an amused, knowing look. "And that is?"

L raised his head, putting his thumb in his mouth. His eyes met Wammy's and he gave a confident smirk.

"Justice."

**Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think so far of L's first case and the idea of him being an angsty, sexy teenager. I really appreciate and look forward to your reviews and suggestions. If you have any good ideas, let me know!**


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